incendiary
by Constance Greene
Summary: How could I have burned paradise? — AxelKairi


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.×. incendiary .×.  
one shot

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The cluster of islands fit the stereotype well; they were their own utopia secluded from the rest of the world. The ivory sand on the beaches, pure; the cerulean waters, pristine; the emerald forests, untouched. Relucent light washed over the darkness like a brimming tidal wave and assembled it elsewhere (anywhere but here). Annihilation, in this current place and time, was nondescript. Nothing at all could flaw _this _beautiful world.

But only one thing made it truly perfect. All the other factors would be hopelessly lost and devastated without the last piece to complete the puzzle. He had come here for her, to witness absolute harmony and breathe it in like the smoke his fires made. Without either,

_one two_

he'd diminish even more so into nonexistence.

They almost made him feel **_alive_**.

But now that she was gone – he had lost her – paradise was lost. Viewed from the pyro's eyes, the tropical island was suddenly devoid of its glamour. There was no brilliance in the sunlight, no glow on the sand, no crystalline sparkle in the water. One person had made it that way. She had ravished it during her inhabitance and then ravaged it by her departure. It was ironic how many characters in this dysfunctional world would always remain untamable.

His hollow form was now filled with such intensity that he had never known to occur since his blonde friend had left him, and this time (if possible), it was greater than that now minor casualty. On the shore, flames spun and licked around his hands, fiery bracelets composed of writhing serpents which slithered up his skeletal arms. He stalked towards inland in only two steps,

_one two_

approaching the copse of trees that lined the upper-beach. The figure stood before them, a slight silhouette in the midnight darkness, then knelt as if in reverence before the vegetation. Both arms thrust out,

_one two_

hurtling the blaze into the foliage. Now it was a pyre, set alight with the creaking and groaning of burning wood. Soon the skyline was ominously ruddy, the stars replaced by sparks and the clouds by smoke. The arsonist inhaled the aroma like a sweet-smelling flower's and yet did not feel alive. Alive was the feeling he had while gazing upon her perfectly alluring face. All passion turned to rage.

He stood back to admire his work, boots soaking up the tide as he was forced to wander into the ocean. The inferno engulfed the area entirely, and soon it'd reach the villages if no one extinguished its rapidly forming path first. Simple water or earth could not halt its predatory recklessness, however; even the sand had been ignited. He was the only one who could smother what he had brought to life, and there was not the slightest intention to commit such a vulgar erasing act.

In the distance, someone began to scream. Its piercing, anguished quality disappeared into the haunted night as the flame reached the victim's brain. Then another started up and was cut off just as abruptly as the last.

_one two_

He only wished she had been here to see this. Doubtless she was currently lost in a realm of eternal nothingness, or perhaps already deceased. Maybe in Heaven she would look down from her celestial perch and see her home ablaze and slipping further into destruction. He then hoped she'd feel the same way he did. Baffled. Agonized. Cheated. Misused. _Lonely._

All he had wanted to do was preserve her innocence, as though she were a rare and exotically beautiful butterfly. Catch her in a jar and put her on his desk to admire for eternity, even after she died. Yet she refused his will, and once more he had been plunged into dejection.

In the dim light, it was possible to see his mane flaming hair, absorbing the similarly-coloured light given off by the fire. On his ghastly face, beneath his eyes which reflected the catastrophe in motion across their clear surface, the dark tattoos were astoundingly well-defined. They were not the only duo of tears prominent; double lines of moisture trickled down the slope of his cheeks and he tried to convince himself that it was raining on his parade.

_one two_

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_How could I have burned paradise?_

_How could I – you were never mine._

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a u th o r ' s . n ote s ;;

Jaaah. Kingdom Hearts does not belong to me (nor do the lyrics from Evanescence's _Call Me When You're Sober_).

Kairel makes me want to, uhm, burn stuff. ♥


End file.
